


Closer

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Series: Horseshoes, Hand Grenades, & Maybe Love [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Reconciliation, Troubled Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been months since Kenny moved in with Stan and Kyle after his long-standing secret relationship with Kyle came to light. The three of them living together was Stan's idea, but he's no closer to figuring out what he really wants now than he was the day he found out. Until tonight, maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

Stan didn't call to say he'd be back from the conference a day early, so he isn't surprised to find the house dark. You can't really wait up for someone you don't know is coming, right? Especially when, for almost half a year, that person has returned a day or two later than the itinerary under the magnet on the refrigerator door says he will. This time, though, Stan just wanted to be home.

He entertains the possibility that no one is even home right now—midnight isn't that late, the bars are still open—but when he looks through the garage window he sees both cars. He wouldn't mind if his arrival were to awaken Kyle, and because he's thinking that, he's especially quiet and careful as he slips his key into the lock, turns it, and pushes the door open. He catches himself actually _tiptoeing_ across the floor after he's shed his coat and boots, something he hasn't done since he was a kid on Christmas morning.

As he laughs silently at himself, he almost pulls out his phone and texts Shelly, but then realizes she'll think it's an emergency at this hour; it can wait until daylight. He's been working really hard on finding a silver lining to this whole situation, and what he finally came up with is that he's closer to his sister now than he's ever been. She's been his fucking rock some nights, the only person who hasn't told him he's crazy to be trying this. "You always did crazy shit when you were a kid," she said when he asked her why she was supporting him. "And it almost always worked out. I may not understand the method to your madness, kiddo, but I know you have one." She'd also offered to sock Kenny in the face and _meant_ it, which had cemented their new sibling bond even though Stan had talked her out of it.

He feels for the light switch at the foot of the staircase, thinks better of it and reaches for the banister to guide him instead. Shelly's faith in him genuinely touched him, even though he thinks she's wrong: there's no method to this. He doesn't know what he's doing at all. She's the only one who thinks he does. Well, and Kyle, maybe. Kyle must think Stan knows what he's doing. Or maybe he just has blind faith in Stan. There was a time when he resented that, that Kyle and Kenny were putting everything on him, expecting him to find the way. And then he'd realized it's this way because he made it this way: he couldn't bring himself to trust them. He thought either he'd have to do it himself or it wouldn't get done. For a while he thought he could do it, but he's no closer now to knowing what to do than he was before. And god, he's so tired of not knowing. Tired of thinking.

At the top of the stairs, he pauses. His eyes have adjusted enough to the dark that he can see Kyle's door is ajar. He knows from the way they are with each other that Kyle and Kenny didn't stop fucking when he and Kyle did, but they've been careful never to let him hear or see it again. So even though they aren't expecting him tonight, Stan doesn't think Kyle would leave the door open again while he's having sex, no matter how slightly.

Still, he should probably just go to his room.

He tiptoes to Kyle's anyhow. He doesn't hear anything, sexual or otherwise. Lifting the door against its hinges so it won't squeak, he pushes it open a little wider, thinking he'll just look at Kyle sleeping for a second. It's weird, but he almost misses that more than the sex—Kyle's peaceful face, his body relaxed in slumber.

It seems he's going to have to wait a while longer to see that, though, because Kyle's bed turns out to be empty. He must be in Kenny's room. Stan leaves the door the way he found it and goes, flat-footed, to his own room.

And finds Kyle asleep in his bed.

Stan stays in his doorway. Not just to look at Kyle's peaceful, sleeping face but mostly because he doesn't know what to do or where to go. He can't go sleep in Kyle's bed because—because he just can't. He could grab a blanket from the closet, go back downstairs and curl up on the sofa, but. But he just stands there.

He stands there so long, not knowing what to do, that it starts to feel metaphorical, if that's the right word. He wants to wake Kyle up and tell him what he's just thought, and have Kyle laugh and explain to him the difference between metaphor, simile, allegory, and whatever else Kyle thinks Stan should take into consideration when he's thinking things like this.

He starts over to the bed but can't get himself to sit on it, and now this is getting weird and maybe creepy, and he decides just to go sleep downstairs after all. As he's turning away, the covers rustle, and Kyle says his name.

Stan turns back but doesn't say anything, not sure if Kyle is really awake.

"Stan?" Kyle says again, and this time he sits up, reaching for the bedside lamp. "Is that you?"

The bulb is a low wattage, but they both squint in the soft light anyhow, eyes fixed on each other's face.

"Yeah," Stan says after a while.

Kyle shifts and Stan thinks he's going to get out of bed, but he only sits up. "Is it." Kyle glances down at the edge of the comforter bunched in his fist, then back up at Stan. "Is it all right I'm here? I mean, is it weird? Or, do you mind?"

"I don't mind," Stan says without giving himself time to think, and is only a little surprised to discover that his words are true. He sits on the edge of the bed.

Kyle slides his hand under Stan's, loosely curls his fingers up around Stan's. His lashes sweep down, studying the touch of their hands, Stan thinks; Stan himself studies the lashes. He sees the flicker that means Kyle is about to look up again and he has enough time to look away himself, but he doesn't.

"Can I stay, then?" Kyle asks when their gazes meet this time.

"Yeah," Stan says, lingering a moment before taking his hand back and standing up.

He can only see Kyle from the waist up. Since that part of him is naked, Stan strips off down to his boxers. Not a sexy strip show or anything, just getting undressed, and as he's stepping out of his jeans he realizes he can't remember the last time he's done this, come back from a World Wildlife Fund conference and taken off his clothes and slipped into bed beside Kyle. He looks over and his mouth curves up a little more when he sees Kyle has slipped down again, his eyes closed. He climbs under the covers as stealthily as he can, twisting back to turn off the light.

"'m not asleep," Kyle murmurs, eyes still closed, as Stan settles down next to him.

"Oh," Stan whispers back.

Kyle smiles as he opens his eyes, shifts closer to Stan, reaching to rest his hand at Stan's hip under the covers. He soothes his thumb along the skin above the waistband, caressing slowly. His eyes fall shut as he does so, but Stan keeps his open, keeps watching Kyle's face, feeling Kyle's touch. "Missed you," Kyle murmurs, letting his hand slide around to the small of Stan's back as he shifts closer still, their knees bumping.

"I missed you, too." Stan parts his legs just enough for Kyle to slip his knee in, dovetailing their bodies. It feels good. He's missed this, missed Kyle. It's so almost perfect, so very close... and Stan thinks that if he could just let go, it really would be perfect.

That's the thing, though, isn't it? If Stan could let go, not just here and now, not just with Kyle: if Stan could let go, it would all be perfect.

He doesn't know if he can, though.

He waits for his eyes to adjust fully, waits until he can see Kyle's face as clearly as he's ever been able to in the dark. Kyle is breathing slow and steady and his eyes are closed, but Stan knows he's still awake. "Can I ask why you were in here?"

Kyle opens his eyes, tucks his hand under his head. "In your bed, you mean, without you in it?"

Stan nods.

"I was missing you," Kyle says. "I miss you, Stan."

Stan knows that Kyle means, in that last statement, something more than his recent trip. He isn't sure exactly what and he doesn't know if Kyle knows completely, either.

"Well," he says quietly after a moment, "I'm here now." And he's not sure he knows what he means, himself.

Kyle nods, though, and lets his eyes fall shut once more. "Will you fuck me, Stan?" he says, soft as breath. Flutters open. "Or are you too tired?"

Unable not to smile, Stan brushes an errant curl back from Kyle's face. "Aren't _you_ too tired?"

"No." Kyle shakes his head for emphasis, rolls languidly onto his back. "I like it when you fuck me in the middle of the night after one of your trips. Like it when you fuck me slow and sleepy. Like I'm dreaming and awake at the same time. It's nice like that," he sighs.

"Okay." The word is unexpectedly thick in his throat, but Stan manages to get it out. He moves to cover Kyle, feels the material between them, not just his own boxers but Kyle's as well. He kisses Kyle, mostly lips, a little breath, a little tongue. "Can you take these off for me?" he whispers, tugging the waistband of Kyle's boxers.

"You do it." Kyle stretches beneath him, arching with his request.

Stan pushes the covers back off them as he sits up to slide the boxers—which he recognizes now as a pair of his own—down Kyle's legs. Kyle's eyes are open again, gaze fixed on Stan's face. "Will you do mine?" Stan asks.

Kyle, mouth quirked on one side into the hint of a grin, says merely, "You."

"What are you going to do, then?" Stan shifts to strip off his boxers, his mouth wanting to smile back at Kyle's.

"I'll sleep on the wet spot," Kyle offers.

Stan can't control his grin any longer: "That's because you're too lazy to get up after."

"Mmm," Kyle agrees, eyes closing in a slow blink and not coming open again, curving one arm to wrap his fingers around the slats of the headboard, the other resting on his belly, his leg canting open.

It would be easy, so easy to slick himself up and slide home, deep inside Kyle. So easy; and yet, like everything lately, somehow impossible.

Stan rearranges their limbs and lies down next to Kyle again. Kyle doesn't protest, just moves against him somnolently, and as Stan strokes through his curls, he's sure Kyle will drop down into slumber now even without Stan inside him.

Kyle might be close but he's not asleep yet, because he smiles and lets out an audible breath. Stan waits to hear what he's going to say. When no words come, Stan takes his hand from Kyle's head and touches his mouth, tracing the curve of his lips with a fingertip. "What's this for?"

"You like me again." Kyle doesn't open his eyes, but his smile deepens.

"I always loved you, Kyle." It's true; it's always been true and no matter what happens, no matter what he or Kyle or anyone else does, it will always be true. Stan swallows, but the ache doesn't go down.

"I know," Kyle says. "But for a while you didn't like me."

Something breaks inside Stan. Something that shouldn't have been there breaks, gets washed away in the swell of Kyle's words.

"And now I do," he says aloud, adding his own words to the swell.

"Now you do," Kyle agrees, still smiling.

Even though looking at Kyle doesn't hurt him, Stan turns his gaze out the window. He's not sure how much time has passed when he notices a light flurry dotting the moonlight. First snowfall of the season. "Hey." He nudges Kyle lightly. "Are you asleep?" Kyle makes a sound that he might want Stan to take as a yes. Stan gives him the option of changing his answer: "Because it's starting to snow."

Kyle is up and scrambling over Stan before Stan can say anything else. He doesn't even look at the window as he flicks on the light and rummages for clothing. "Come on," he says, raising his eyebrows when he looks over and sees Stan still lying in bed. "Dude, hurry, let's go!"

Stan grins. "It's not going anywhere."

"You don't know that. It might be just a little one. It might stop before we get out there."

Even though Stan is the one who made up the first snowfall ritual, Kyle has always been more urgent about it. Or maybe his urgency came _because_ Stan was the one who made it up. Stan never thought about it like that before. Maybe Kyle has always needed to make sure it happens with Stan and not Kenny, because Stan is the one who invented it.

He lets Kyle drag him out of bed, lets Kyle help dress him when Stan moves too slowly for Kyle's liking. He follows Kyle down the stairs and out into the cold, bright night.

The flurry has thickened and steadied. Kyle laughs, arms outstretched and face tilted up as he spins in it. When he flashes a smile at Stan, Stan keeps their childhood promise and starts to spin, too. They don't stop until they collide, both reaching to keep the other from falling.

As Kyle opens his mouth to catch a snowflake on his tongue, sharing it with Stan in a kiss, Stan doesn't wonder if Kyle and Kenny have fucked in the snow. It doesn't matter if Kyle and Kenny have fucked or kissed in the snow a million times, because they have never kissed in _this_ snowfall, on _this_ night—this moment is his with Kyle; he and Kyle are together in this moment and it is theirs.


End file.
